I had postponed my travel to India, but at some point the time ran out. I
had to get to Bodh Gaya, which is just 500km away. It would be JUST 500km if it
was Australia or Germany or US. In Nepal and parts of India the roads are
following a different standard of course. I had read a warning on the web site
of the Root Institute, where I was going, that part of the road is in extremely
bad condition. And late at night travelling in the Bihar state is very
dangerous.
So naturally I was very much looking forward to it. Actually almost the only preparation I had for that journey was to enjoy the last joint with Milan before I hit the road. He had organised me bus tickets and this is what I knew: take an overnight bus, then in Birgsanj, which is the border town I need to go to a specific hotel. They have my forward ticked from across the border to Bodh Gaya. Milan gave me an envelope with a beautifully handwritten letter, which explained who I am and how they should have a ticket for me. I was under strict orders not to lose that letter. Nor the leaflet of the hotel, because I need to find it the (but don't worry, it's easy:) So off I went like a ambassador of a king.
Milan explained to the bus driver as well, that I need to get to this and that hotel and maybe they can help me out. Entering the bus 7PM I decided to let go now of any sense of control and be ready for anything and everything.
4AM the man on the neighboring seat woke me up. We had arrived. He wanted to know where I need to go. I gave him the leaflet of the hotel. He didn’t say anything, just took it outside and I saw how he started to negotiate with the riksa drivers. Meanwhile I went to sit behind the bus driver and asked him if this hotel that I need to go to is close by and how do I get there? He just raised his hand showing the direction and said something in Hindi. Great. I went outside and meanwhile my neighbor had got me a riksa and was already putting my bags on it. I guess I’m going with this one then, I had to conclude. And off we went in the opposite direction of what the bus driver had indicated.
The streets were deserted with only few other late night passengers or random people drinking tea prepared on the fired glazing on the roadside. It was such a long ride. I had really no idea where I am, just sitting there on the riksa being carried into the darkness. Maybe 20 minutes ride further we turned between the big parked trucks. Interesting move, I thought. But then I saw the hotel behind them.
Hotel was closed of course. After yelling, knocking the door and ringing the doorbell so much that the whole neighborhood lost electricity, we heard some steps. Some weird looking young boy opened the door, they spoke Hindi to each other, I took my bags and entered the complete darkness of this hotel. Good I had my head torch. There was a bench in the hall where I could sit and then an old man gave who said “Hello”. I gave him the precious envelope and did not even dare to speak much to distract him. He read the letter, gave it back to me, stood up without saying one word and walked to the toilet where he peed without closing the door.
He came back, scratching his ass, took the letter and read it again. Against my better judgment I started to get worried. I asked him if he had the bus ticket. He told not to worry, that in the morning I can take the bus. I said that they should have the ticket already and it’s paid for and I want to have it now and I want to be sure that they have it and many other versions of the same plead. It all got the same answer: in the morning, no problem. And then he disappeared while the young weird guy continued screaming his name for no reason. And when he wasn’t screaming he was laughing in a equally weird voice. There was no other light except my head torch, which I every now and then turned off to save the battery. But it was too depressive to sit there in darkness with occasional hollow laughter or a scream.
An hour later the electricity came and the old man returned. It seemed as if he had completed a course in English meanwhile. It was actually possible to talk to him this time and I got to know, that they don’t have the bus tickets, but that’s of course not a problem. He will organize a horse riksa to take me across the border where I can take the bus and he will pay for the bus ticket. Waiting for the horse riksa I got the smallest cup of tea in my life. Outside I saw the sunrise and like all other sunrises I had yet to see in India, the sun was deep orange-red. Why is it so in India?
I crossed the border on the horse. Both immigration controls were easy and everything is done on paper like in Saint Gilles Commune in Brussels.
Across the border in Raxaul the riksa driver bought me a bus ticket – ripped of tiny corner of a paper with couple of words handwritten on it. With this I was supposed to transfer from this bus to another in Patna, India. Great, looking forward it.
It is a testament to the automotive industry, that during the next 3 hours the bus did not fall apart on that road. And then the 6 hours after that it was easy. In Patna, however, oh joy, it turned out we had missed the connection bus. That meant one thing, I will have to dive deep into the Indian experience at once – travelling by train.
Soon enough I was on the platform with 1000 Indians. These were all that did not fit onto the train that was standing on the platform already. I was looking for a person on the platform who looks like he can speak English and then milked all the crucial information out of him. Like: am I on the right platform? When is the next train and how long it will take.
When the next train arrived I was mentally prepared for the fight of the survival of the fittest. Not letting myself be pushed to the back, I fought myself into the II class carriage. With the help of locals even got a seat and luckily had to share it with only one other person. 3 hours later I was in Gaya and found myself a guesthouse just opposite to the train station. I had been commuting 27 hours and even the occasional big ant or someone other sentient being walking on the bed could not disturb my sleep. I just hoped they will not crawl into my ears. I was happy to have made it to India. Bodh Gaya was now just 15km away.
So naturally I was very much looking forward to it. Actually almost the only preparation I had for that journey was to enjoy the last joint with Milan before I hit the road. He had organised me bus tickets and this is what I knew: take an overnight bus, then in Birgsanj, which is the border town I need to go to a specific hotel. They have my forward ticked from across the border to Bodh Gaya. Milan gave me an envelope with a beautifully handwritten letter, which explained who I am and how they should have a ticket for me. I was under strict orders not to lose that letter. Nor the leaflet of the hotel, because I need to find it the (but don't worry, it's easy:) So off I went like a ambassador of a king.
Milan explained to the bus driver as well, that I need to get to this and that hotel and maybe they can help me out. Entering the bus 7PM I decided to let go now of any sense of control and be ready for anything and everything.
4AM the man on the neighboring seat woke me up. We had arrived. He wanted to know where I need to go. I gave him the leaflet of the hotel. He didn’t say anything, just took it outside and I saw how he started to negotiate with the riksa drivers. Meanwhile I went to sit behind the bus driver and asked him if this hotel that I need to go to is close by and how do I get there? He just raised his hand showing the direction and said something in Hindi. Great. I went outside and meanwhile my neighbor had got me a riksa and was already putting my bags on it. I guess I’m going with this one then, I had to conclude. And off we went in the opposite direction of what the bus driver had indicated.
The streets were deserted with only few other late night passengers or random people drinking tea prepared on the fired glazing on the roadside. It was such a long ride. I had really no idea where I am, just sitting there on the riksa being carried into the darkness. Maybe 20 minutes ride further we turned between the big parked trucks. Interesting move, I thought. But then I saw the hotel behind them.
Hotel was closed of course. After yelling, knocking the door and ringing the doorbell so much that the whole neighborhood lost electricity, we heard some steps. Some weird looking young boy opened the door, they spoke Hindi to each other, I took my bags and entered the complete darkness of this hotel. Good I had my head torch. There was a bench in the hall where I could sit and then an old man gave who said “Hello”. I gave him the precious envelope and did not even dare to speak much to distract him. He read the letter, gave it back to me, stood up without saying one word and walked to the toilet where he peed without closing the door.
He came back, scratching his ass, took the letter and read it again. Against my better judgment I started to get worried. I asked him if he had the bus ticket. He told not to worry, that in the morning I can take the bus. I said that they should have the ticket already and it’s paid for and I want to have it now and I want to be sure that they have it and many other versions of the same plead. It all got the same answer: in the morning, no problem. And then he disappeared while the young weird guy continued screaming his name for no reason. And when he wasn’t screaming he was laughing in a equally weird voice. There was no other light except my head torch, which I every now and then turned off to save the battery. But it was too depressive to sit there in darkness with occasional hollow laughter or a scream.
An hour later the electricity came and the old man returned. It seemed as if he had completed a course in English meanwhile. It was actually possible to talk to him this time and I got to know, that they don’t have the bus tickets, but that’s of course not a problem. He will organize a horse riksa to take me across the border where I can take the bus and he will pay for the bus ticket. Waiting for the horse riksa I got the smallest cup of tea in my life. Outside I saw the sunrise and like all other sunrises I had yet to see in India, the sun was deep orange-red. Why is it so in India?
I crossed the border on the horse. Both immigration controls were easy and everything is done on paper like in Saint Gilles Commune in Brussels.
Across the border in Raxaul the riksa driver bought me a bus ticket – ripped of tiny corner of a paper with couple of words handwritten on it. With this I was supposed to transfer from this bus to another in Patna, India. Great, looking forward it.
It is a testament to the automotive industry, that during the next 3 hours the bus did not fall apart on that road. And then the 6 hours after that it was easy. In Patna, however, oh joy, it turned out we had missed the connection bus. That meant one thing, I will have to dive deep into the Indian experience at once – travelling by train.
Soon enough I was on the platform with 1000 Indians. These were all that did not fit onto the train that was standing on the platform already. I was looking for a person on the platform who looks like he can speak English and then milked all the crucial information out of him. Like: am I on the right platform? When is the next train and how long it will take.
When the next train arrived I was mentally prepared for the fight of the survival of the fittest. Not letting myself be pushed to the back, I fought myself into the II class carriage. With the help of locals even got a seat and luckily had to share it with only one other person. 3 hours later I was in Gaya and found myself a guesthouse just opposite to the train station. I had been commuting 27 hours and even the occasional big ant or someone other sentient being walking on the bed could not disturb my sleep. I just hoped they will not crawl into my ears. I was happy to have made it to India. Bodh Gaya was now just 15km away.
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